


I Had to Come Back New

by westandvigilant



Series: Devil Town [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Friday Night Lights, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westandvigilant/pseuds/westandvigilant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Enjolras is an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Had to Come Back New

Extreme close up. She licks her lips again, running her teeth over the bottom lip, trying to gauge how loud the voice coming out of her sleep roughed throat will be exactly. The sun has just barely started to show, rays of yellow cresting through the robin’s blue sky. They saturate her lover’s profile, outlining the aristocratic nose, the sharp chin, the sculpted lips in the gold he is so accustomed to catching.

Éponine nibbles at her finger nails, words trying to roll off her tongue, but they’re getting stuck between her teeth instead. She tries whispering his name, chanting a steady stream of “Luke, hey, Luke,” in his ear while he stubbornly continues sleeping.

He refuses to let her call him anything but his first name in the bedroom. Says it makes him feel like a “weird, pervy teacher with a school girl fetish.” But he never answers to Luke anyhow, so this is his fault.

“Enjoras,” she finally stage whispers, digging a finger into his ribs. All she receives is a grunt for her troubles. She finds his shoulder under the covers and gives a good shove before saying, full volume into his ear: “ _Enjolras, wake up, you ass.”_

All he does is open one blue eye and clear his throat in some manner that sounds like it could be “What.”

"I’m pregnant.”

His eyebrow arches for just a second before he takes a deep breath and tells her that he’s late for work.

She watches from her mound of sheets as he gets out of bed and dresses, shoving a pair of slacks on, jamming a polo over his head. Half heartedly taking a moment to reach over his back and lift his left foot up, knee creaking with the piss poor effort of the stretch. He’s got a shoe in each hand before she’s done processing what’s happening and is ready to speak.

“Did you not just hear me?”

‘Yes, Éponine,” he says, exasperatedly raising each arm to the side, shoes flopping against his wrists. “I’ve got to go to work.”

“It is, like, five thirty in the morning,” she bit out raising her own hand to illustrate who knows what. His idiocy, probably.

“I’ve got, you know, lesson plans to finish and I just have to go.”

Their eyes don’t even meet, but Enjolras picks across the room and leaves a kiss on her forehead all the same. She tries to push him off, but the peck is so quick that she doesn’t even get the satisfaction.

Instead she sits there wrapped in blankets and completely unsure of what to do next.

—-

Match cut. Éponine sits on a stool in the Musain, still unsure of what to do next. She’d managed to put her uniform on, braid her hair, get to work, but she can’t seem to do much of anything else. The counter remains unwashed. Two tables left unbussed. And the lunch rush was bound to come in any moment.

Her phone rings in her pocket and she tries really hard not to check the caller ID, but she can’t help it. The pit in her stomach drops at the name.

“Gav,” she says into the cell. Someone from the kitchen yells that she shouldn’t be on her phone and she gives them a hearty middle finger for their effort. “You know you shouldn’t be callin’ people while you’re in school.”

Cafeteria sounds crackle over the line along with Gavroche’s voice asking why a sub was teaching Enjolras’ classes.

—-

One point perspective of Éponine from behind, back baking in the noontime sun, shoving the front door open. Usually she’d call it her house.  _Their_  house. But right now the only thing she can think is that it’s his house. His cinderblock flower beds. His cracked side walk. His new hardwood floors.

But she opens the door and he’s sitting at the table she demanded he add to the dining room because it was barbaric to eat in the kitchen all the time. Idiot. Anyway, he’s sitting there at the table, with a bouquet of wildflowers draped over his lap.

“I thought you had to be at work,” she says, dropping her keys on the floor and crossing the room to land an angry kiss on Enjolras’ lips. She flicks her eyes over the haphazard assortment of flowers. “What? Too lazy to go buy me some flowers from the damn gas station?”

“Jehan suggested it. Said it would mean more. Guess that is not so,” he enunciates the last few words into hardened peaks and throws the bouquet on the table, shoving some stray stems onto the floor. Her arms are crossed, her eyebrows arched but he still manages to pull her onto his lap.

“You fucked up,” she deadpans.

He holds her gaze for a few seconds, deciding what to say. “I just immediately wanted to do something nice for you. Surprise you. Wanted to make you a nice dinner, but it’s not dinner time yet. Buy you something nice. But, there isn’t anything nice anywhere in this town. ”

“Except me.”

“Except you.”

“Okay. Well, you still fucked up.”

“I know.”

They both seem to let out a sigh and she puts her arms around his shoulders, folding her legs underneath her on his lap. He winces a little and shifts a lot, but gives her exactly what she needs.

“Are you excited at all?" 

"Of course I am,” he says, his head tilted, taken aback at her words. “I figured you’d— I didn’t think you needed me to say that. Of course I’m excited to have a baby with you.”

There are a few tears in her voice when she blinks and admits that yes, yes she needs to hear that. As often as possible.

They sit in silence for another few minutes, her head against his neck. The last wisps of summer breeze slipping through the screen door, tickling her bare thighs. The buzz of insects unsure of whether or not hibernate yet. 

“We’ve got a lot to do,” Éponine pipes up, sitting back. “You’re going to have to do something about that porch out back and probably fix that sliding glass door and I know that it was Gav who broke it—”

And he’s listening, kind of, while she continues creating a list that will take him the next two years to complete and most of which he has no idea how to start, but he’s a little more interested in the sunlight getting lost in the dark of her hair. The way her hair seems to fight the very idea of being contained.

So he pulls off the hair tie and very slowly, nodding at the sound of her voice, begins to unbraid her hair. Losing his fingers in its waves. Helping it tumble wild down her back. He waits patiently for her to finish, or for her to at least take a moment, take a breath, so he can say something that he has to say.

“—Hey. Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes,” he says, hands at the nape of her neck. “You want me to move my office in the basement even though we don’t have a basement.”

“Oh, I forgot,” she leans back into his hands with a hum, closing her eyes.

Dropping his voice down, he whispers low and hot into her ear: “May I take you into the bedroom and fuck you now?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she murmurs. Their limbs tighten, arms looping, hands groping for purchase on each other’s skin. He crushes his lips against hers and she smiles into the kiss, nibbling at his lower lip as he picks her up and walks to the bedroom.

And now we fade, quite tastefully, to black.


End file.
